


One Little Room an Everywhere

by onvavoir



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BDSM, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:29:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onvavoir/pseuds/onvavoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt could sublimate his baser needs. But he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Little Room an Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> (Not THAT Josie.)

Sex is a complicated thing for Matt. In the course of normal events, he keeps the overwhelming influx of stimuli carefully blocked out. He maintains tight control over his body. Even during sex, he holds back. Focusing on his partner-- sounds, smells, the squeeze and flex of muscles-- keeps his mind off his own body and his own feelings. It got him a reputation in college as a sensitive and attentive lover, even if his emotional follow-through was lacking. That, they chalked up to the wounded bird perception they had of him, poor thing. Damaged. If it meant they never really understood what he could really do, so much the better. He's content to remain an enigma.

There are nights when he seeks out companionship, when he needs to be taken out of himself by a prolonged bout of sex or even some mild masochism. He wouldn't go to a club for fear of being recognised, but he's resourceful, and the internet makes things easier. He has an excellent and discreet domme whose specialty is disabled clients. Every so often he calls her in to slap him and tie him up and tell him he's a good boy for taking it so well. It fills a need he doesn't feel comfortable asking anyone else to fill.

Tonight he doesn't want to talk to anyone, not even to request a beating. Sometimes it's easier to not have to explain the bruises and scars. If he's careless, doesn't time it right, they come across a recently acquired laceration just as they're getting down to business. It tends to kill the mood. Josie has never asked-- she's far too professional-- but plenty of other people have. Their relationship is strictly non-sexual, but he often calls on those sessions when he feels like turning himself on. Just thinking about the impact of her palm on his face, the ringing of his ears and the lingering sting in his skin, is usually enough to get him hard.

He turns his face to feel the texture of the comforter against his stubble and call up the sense memory of being bent over the end of the bed with his boxer briefs tugged down to bare his ass. Josie had thoughtfully put a folded towel beneath his knees and then pushed him down to press his face into the bed.

"Mm."

He licks his lips. His skin is twenty-five degrees hotter than the air in the room. It's perfect. He tunes out the sounds from outside, street traffic and conversation, someone having sex two blocks away. This room is the entire world. He lies still, conscious of the coverlet beneath him, the faint draft from the window as it moves the hairs on his body, and the scent of his own arousal. His hand moves from its relaxed state at his side and slides over his hip. His fingers close around his half-erect cock. 

Matt's bare skin is just beginning to sweat, scent and taste of salt, and he calls up the sound of the whistle as the cane comes down and becomes a bright hot arrow of pain across his ass. His breath shudders. His back arches as he closes his hand a little tighter around his cock. He pulls up one knee to feel the rub of the fabric against the sole of his foot. Lazily stroking, he reaches up with his other hand to brush fingertips across his lips, feel his breath against his palm. He lets his knuckles graze the stubble on his face. Then he slaps himself as hard as he can.

It's never quite as good. Even if he can predict the timing based on breathing and the sound of the hand travelling through the air, there's a rush that he only gets when someone else slaps him. He chooses not to analyse the myriad psychological facets of that desire. It simply is. He likes to be hit. Not like a fight, rapid fire and potentially fatal. It's always tightly controlled. Josie watches carefully to make sure she doesn't leave bruises on his face. On his ass is fine-- he's gone to work with welts that made it painful to sit and spent all day squirming. It was deeply gratifying.

That too makes his heartbeat pick up a little. His thumb traces over the head of his cock, over and over until it almost hurts, and his other hand comes away from his face to slip between his legs and rub his perineum. The movement of his hand speeds up, his breath catches. He jerks himself off, hips lifting as he reaches the climax, takes himself right to the edge of orgasm, and then stops.

For a sweet second, everything in his body cries out for him to finish himself off. It's exquisite. Matt's fingers dig into the covers, and he takes a deep breath. It shakes its way out of him. 

Once his hard-on subsides, he'll go to sleep. It won't be restful-- he'll be half-hard all night and he'll likely wake up on his stomach, rubbing his dick against the mattress. He bites his lip at the thought. The heat in his body cools, and he shivers as the chill in the room starts to penetrate. He gets up to pull back the covers and climbs back into bed. Tomorrow morning he'll be desperate. He'll wake up every one or two hours, until finally just before dawn he'll break and make himself come. The corner of his mouth turns up at the thought.


End file.
